


Fortune Telling

by RainforestEcology



Series: hey babe, i'm the dirt under your shoe [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 10:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18193670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainforestEcology/pseuds/RainforestEcology
Summary: The Exile interrupts Atton for more than just a pazaak game. Atton hates himself but gains some hint of hope. Could occur anytime mid-game KOTOR II. Standalone.Excerpt:The door to the cockpit hissed open. The Exile entered, clean from the refresher, almost shining. She consumed most of his thoughts anyways, running the gamut from innocent to most vile, but when she stood before him like this, he had to always bring pazaak to their forefront, whispering the words aloud for fear the witch would sneak in. Still, he treasured these moments.





	Fortune Telling

Atton was slime. Even as he sat at the cockpit, playing pazaak and watching the stars run past, his thoughts slid past each out wetly, leaving viscous residue that clung to even the most innocent of his thoughts. He pulled his jacket tighter. He seemed to always be cold on the damn ship, which would be only too easy to blame on the sith girl or the witch. He’d had little interaction with Visas since she joined them, but with the witch he’d had too much. He tried to keep his most innocent thoughts from her, keeping them closest to his chest, for whenever he let down his guard, she seemed to pluck the one he most valued in his hand and burn it to a crisp.

The door to the cockpit hissed open. The Exile entered, clean from the refresher, almost shining. She consumed most of his thoughts anyways, running the gamut from innocent to most vile, but when she stood before him like this, he had to always bring pazaak to their forefront, whispering the words aloud for fear the witch would sneak in. Still, he treasured these moments.

“How’s everything up here?” She asked, her lilting country accent cultivated on Dantooine long ago still clear for all her travels.

“Same old, beautiful. The stars rushing past us, you wasting your time on some jedi quest when you should be finding the nearest sweet guy to hold you in this dark world.”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and sat down in the co-pilot seat beside him, resting her legs up on the dashboard. Her hair was still wet and the smell of shampoo lingered. A water droplet was slipping down her temple. He closed his eyes and gave in for a moment, imagined leaning forward, kissing the water droplet then following the line of her jaw downwards.

Unbidden, the image changed. They were in the shower, a soothing warmth, and he was caressing her gently, and she him, as if they were lovers and he were not a putrid man lusting for her. He murmured to her ordinary compliments and she laughed and called him a dumbass. He lingered here, astounded at its innocence, even as his hands and mouth moved southward, luridness undermined by the squeaks their bodies made against the tiles and her plain-spoken instructions on how to better pleasure her with his mouth—

“Atton!” He blinked suddenly, staring at the hand that waved up and down in his face. He heard a loud sigh and the pazaak deck he was mindless flipping through was snatched from him by the Exile.

“Hey!” His gaze followed the movement and flitted up to her face to an almost predatory grin.

“So I take it, you didn’t hear what I said?”

He threw his hands up in defeat. “I admit it. I was so dazed by your beauty that I didn’t hear what you said. Repeat it, would you?”

“I said you’re such a romantic. Tell me,” her gaze focused sharply on him. “If I should be out finding some sweet little boy, someone like Mical perhaps—”

He scowled. He didn’t know how much she had ferreted out about his petty one-sided animosity towards the other man, but she had discovered it and teased him mercilessly with it. “You’re evil.”

Her grin grew. “If I’m finding some nice young man to protect me from monsters in the dark, what should you be doing?”

 _I should be dead_ , was his immediate answer but he swallowed it back and answered instead, “I reckon I should be getting a farm on some backwards planet—not Dantooine, too many jedi—and get me a missus and maybe start a colony of Rands, one bumpkin after another.”

She snorted. “Give me your hands,” she ordered.

He glared at her suspiciously but her eyes stared back harder, expectant. He sighed and placed one of his hands in her cupped palms. Her skin was warm, like a sunlit day. She turned his hand over and began tracing lines with her fingers. “Can you read palms with the force now? What jedi taught you that trick?”

She smiled back at him and said, “Maybe. But I can tell, Master Rand, that you’re not destined to be a farmer. Your hands are smooth, almost as soft as Visas’s.”

He flushed instinctively. The reaction surprised him. He had far greater things to be ashamed of than any perceived lack of masculinity. “What are soft hands destined for then? And how many of us have you been holding hands with?”

“Soft hands…let’s see that could be an academic—doesn’t really seem like you does it—an engineer, a politician, a jedi, a lover—“

“Your hands aren’t soft,” he accused. Their hands had moved. Now, the Exile’s hand laid in his, his thumb rolling over his palm and dragging across the calluses built up during her time on the Outer Rim.

“I haven’t been a jedi in a while, Atton.”

“Well no…” It was hard to focus on anything other than her hands in his. His pazaak game was faltering.

“Tell me, can you read my palm?”

He closed his eyes and furrowed his brows, miming concentration. “Well, let’s see, you’ll succeed in your mission and then, you will find a sweet guy to hold.” He opened his eyes and grinned. “But I don’t need to read your palm to know that.”

“Oh yeah? Do you know the future of our other companions too then?”

“Duh. Mira will use her past a bounty hunter to undermine the most notorious gangs. Bao-Dur will go back to helping in the Republic restoration efforts. Visas…honestly, she will probably stay with you wherever you go. Mical, he will probably help in trying to restore the jedi council, that or…” he scowled.

The Exile laughed. “I would be happy if that all came to past. It sounds like a wonderful future.” They sat there silent for a moment, holding the others hand, Atton divided—one half trying to keep his dark thoughts oozing out, the other basking in the moment. Then she asked, “What about Kreia?”

The slime pushed out. “The witch would be dead.”

“Oh.” The Exile’s smile slid off her lips. Her grasp loosened and her hand fell out of his.

Now that it had been released, the scum rolled out of him. “I’d kill her.”

There was silence. The stars ran and the ship creaked. He heard T3 roll down the hallway towards the cockpit. “Atton,” the Exile said, quietly. “Is something wrong? Has Kreia said something to you?”

“No.” He looked away from her, back into space. What he had seen earlier, wasn’t just some random imagining, the normal lustful intrusive thoughts. It was a dream. Impossible. Even if he was not such a coward that he could imagine telling the Exile the truth.

There was silence between them again. She passed his pazaak deck back to him and he resumed thumbing his way through the cards mindlessly. She stood up. “I need to go ask Visas something.”

“Of course beautiful. Don’t let me keep you.”

She passed behind him, but lingered in the doorway. He could feel her there, like a warm summer breeze, and threw up the slime covered cards in his mind to block it, block her. Predictably, it didn’t work. She shined through the cracks.

“Meetra?” He stood, hands sweaty, fumbling.

“Hmm?”

“I’ll—” He cleared his throat. “I’ll fight for that future.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work ever, but the first thing I've shared in 3+ years. I hope you enjoyed!


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